Harry Potter and the Adventure in Death
by Animal Arithmetic
Summary: If the man who died to save you was only a hop, a skip, and a jump away... would you take the plunge? "Bottoms up," said Harry to the mysterious man on the other side of the table as he took a drink of the deadly potion.
1. The Plunge

One. The Plunge.

The silence, Harry Potter decided, was utterly and completely excruciating. It pained his very core, how still the magical school's grounds were. Teenagers from every house should have been laughing and playing in the warm summer air, enjoying their time before exams glared down on them. Instead, there was not a soul about the grounds to enjoy the clear blue skies. At the moment the sky mocked the mourning magic-folk at their recent losses. The sun shinned brightly down on that small corner of the world when a dark, rainy day would have been more appropriate.

Harry Potter, however, merely felt empty.

Useless.

He could not save them all, and he hated himself for his lack of strength to save them all. He was the Savior, was he not? People expected him to make sure everyone came out of this war alive.

Harry shook his head to push the thoughts away. It would not do well to dwell on things he could not change, no matter how hard he tried. There was no Time Turner he could use, no spell, no potion, nothing.

He could do nothing to ease their pain.

And he hated feeling so useless.

Now that the world had no need for him anymore, he had been more or less by himself for the past twenty-four hours. In those twenty-four hours he had cleaned up the grounds of Hogwarts as much as he could. He had watched people cry, sob, and scream at their loss. Some had even cursed at him, but only two had raised their wand in grief and anger.

On that early May afternoon, once everyone else had left, Harry Potter stood looking down on the corpse of one Severus Snape. All the other bodies- both dead and just merely injured- had been cleared out earlier that morning. Only one dead body remained. No one had come to retrieve the greatest spy the world had ever seen. It was a sorry sight indeed. Blood had dried and caked onto the long, pale neck, and the dark eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling of the Great Hall.

Choking back a sob, Harry closed the eyes of the bravest man he had ever met.

He now understood everything the Potions professor had done, had done for _him_, for the Boy-Who-Lived. How could Harry thank him, now that he was dead?

Harry kneeled beside the still, cold body of Severus Snape. "Snape... Professor? Sir?" he tried, desperate for the man to wake up and tell him everything would be okay.

Maybe he was just sleeping, and that stupid snake hadn't really killed him-

No, he was definitely dead, Harry decided as he placed two searching fingers to the man's neck. Snape had no pulse and his neck was stone cold. Some of the blood came off and stuck to his fingertips as he pulled away. He stared down at his hand in morbid fascination. He was so close to Snape, he had _touched_ him, and the man wasn't even alive to give him a snarky comment.

"I wanted to thank you," Harry whispered, brushing a stray strand of the long black hair away from the pale face with his left hand. The hand unsoiled from any blood. He ran the same hand through his own growing hair. He would have to cut it soon. Once his teacher had been laid to rest, perhaps. It could wait that long.

A tear escaped his eye and landed on the blood-soaked neck. It mixed with the dried blood and ran down the side of Severus Snape's neck. The small drop of sorrow revealed a tiny trail of pale skin as it went.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is alright, child."

The sudden noise startled Harry and he turned to face the long table to his left. He hadn't even heard the man enter. There he saw a very strange man. His black hair fell about his face in disarray and his lowered head caused the fringe to hide his eyes. His skin, pale, contrasted greatly against his dark hair. The robes draped elegantly about his frame were of the purest white, not even a speck of blood or dust to mare its beautiful sheen despite how dirty the Great Hall was at the moment. He raised a hand in a semblance of a wave. A tinkling sound filled the air and it was then that Harry noticed the simple, yet graceful, silver jewelry decorating his wrists and neck. Surely he would have heard the stranger's jewelry tinkling as he walked in, yet there had not even been an echoing sound of footsteps in the large, empty hall.

"Did I frighten you?" the stranger asked, his voice low and sinister. "Where is that Gryffindor bravery your insufferable house loves so much? Surely the Savior of the World is not afraid of an old man like me."

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be here still," Harry replied, standing so he was not looking up at the man. Old? This man couldn't even be same age as Snape. He looked at least a decade younger than the spy. Now that he noticed, the stranger almost looked like the man at his feet. Harry decided that they were at least cousins, if not brothers. "Are you here for Snape?"

The stranger shook his head. The messy black locks bounced around his face, and he still did not look up. A smirk twisted what Harry could see of his face into something that unnerved his very soul. Harry took a small step back. "No, Mr. Potter. I am not here for Mr. Snape." It was strange to hear the fearsome man's name with the title in front of it. Harry had only heard 'Professor' as any sort of title in relation to the Potion Master. The smirk grew. "I am here for something else all together."

This confused Harry. "Not here for Snape? Then... What for?"

The smirk twisted into a sinister grin that promised something Harry probably would not like, even if Harry could not see his eyes. "You."

"Me?"

"Did I stutter, Mr. Potter?"

"Hey." Harry frowned at his name. "I'm pretty sure I've never told you my name."

"Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Potter." One corner of the grinning mouth stretched further into a sneer. "Boy Wonder, Savior, Boy-Who-Can-Escape-Death. Among others too numerous to name. Perhaps later I could be bothered enough to name them all."

"What-"

The bracelets on the stranger's left hand tinkled as he waved his hand to silence Harry. "Please, Mr. Potter," he said, his voice hinting towards a deal. Whether it would be good for Harry or not, he could not fathom. "I have a proposition for you."

Harry narrowed his eyes behind his scratched glasses. "A proposition, huh? What kind?"

"So suspicious!" The stranger returned to smirking. He leaned back, but did not raise his head. "Why do you not trust me?"

"I don't even know your name."

"I have not told you?" Harry noticed the mocking tone instantly. The stranger simply waved a hand despondently. "It really is not all that important at the moment. What _is_ important, however..." The man leaned over the table and clasped his hands in front of him on the wood. "Bringing Severus Snape back to life."

Harry stared down at the stranger in shock. It was possible to bring the dead back to life? Well, Harry managed that feat just yesterday, but that was with the Resurrection Stone, and Harry had lost that some time ago. No, it shouldn't have been possible in the first place. Harry had really never followed the 'rules' in magic, but he knew that no matter how special he was he could not bring Severus Snape back to the living.

"But that's not possible," he said at last. "The Resurrection Stone-"

"Has been destroyed," the man interrupted, all dark amusement fading from his lips. "But I do not mean for you to use the Stone."

Harry turned the words over in his mind. Something stuck out and he frowned. "What do you mean, me?"

The man frowned as well. "I mean," he started slowly, leaning further over the table; his hair still shielded his eyes from view, "that there is anoter way to bring back Severus Snape. Without the Resurrection Stone, preferably. It is such messy business, that Stone."

His words made Harry pause. As he thought of a proper response, he sat down across from the stranger. "Why would I want to do that? Bring him back, I mean?"

Again, the man smirked. Harry was starting to hate that smirk. It made him sick to his stomach. "Do I really need to answer that, Mr. Potter? You feel that he," with a light chiming sound from his bracelets, he pointed towards the prone body behind Harry, "deserves a second chance. He gave his life to protect you. He spent half his lifetime doing so. The first half was more horrible than anyone can imagine. Anyone," he pointed right at Harry with a thin, pale finger, "besides yourself. You know exactly what happened; you can relate."

The tinkling filled the air as the bracelets slowly swung and hit each other when Harry could not reply. How could he? What was he supposed to say? He turned to look down at Severus Snape on the cold, stone floor. True, Harry did want to bring the man back to life, to give him a second chance at a life he had no control over. He spent almost forty years being controlled by everyone around him. For twenty years he had been strung along between two of the most powerful men the world had seen as of yet. Harry wanted to give him the chance to finally live his own life without the controlling clutches of a madman and a wise man. Could it really be so simple to bring him back for that second chance he deserved?

"Would you be willing to give your life up for his?" The soft voice coming from the other man surprised Harry. He turned back to face the stranger. The pale lips twisted into a sad frown. "Are you willing to trade places with him?"

"I..." Harry turned to look back down at the older man. Was he willing to die for Severus Snape, his tormentor and protector in school for the past seven years? Was he willing to do the same thing the dead man had done for him? He turned back to the stranger and steeled his emotions. "I've done what I was supposed to do. I have served my purpose in life."

The stranger threw his head back and laughed. It was a dry, rattling sound that unnerved Harry to his very soul. How was it humanly possible to create such a sound? It reminded him of a Dementor. Unpleasant memories popped to the forefront of his mind, but he managed to push them back with a shudder. Really, he could not figure out what was so funny as the man continued to laugh. He almost regretted his decision.

Almost, but not quite.

As he calmed down, the strange lowered his head, eyes closed until his fringe covered his eyes again. "Is that, so, Harry Potter?"

"I've caused enough death," was Harry's reply. "I should pay it back with my own."

The strange man gave the impression that he was eying Harry carefully, judging if his words were true. "You really believe that you killed all these people, do you not?" The feeling that the strange man was studying him did not leave Harry.

"I did."

"Tell me, Mr. Potter." He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on top, his elbows spread wide on the tabletop. The bracelets clinked softly in the eerie silence. "Did you point your wand at every single person who died in this horrendous war? Did you utter the curse that would take away their breath, their life?"

"No, but-"

"Did you," the man interrupted, raising his voice slightly, "cast the Imperious Curse on various people to kill others?"

"No, but I-"

"Then I fail to understand how you killed all those people," the man interrupted again.

Harry opened his mouth then promptly shut it. He had no idea how to argue that point. He had never cast the Imperious Curse to have someone kill another, and he had never pointed his wand at someone with the Killing Curse on his lips. The only person he had purposefully killed was Tom Riddle, and that was with a simple _Expelliarmus_.

Making up his mind, Harry nodded shortly. "Alright."

"'Alright'?"

"I'll do it."

"Do what, exactly?"

Harry had a feeling that the man was playing with him. "I'll trade my life for Professor Snape's. What do I have to do?"

The mouth twisted once again into an unnerving grin. A pale hand, accompanied with light chiming, dove into a pocket of the white robs. When it withdrew, the man held a vial. In it was a deep green liquid. "This is a... special potion. You will die, and nothing will bring you back."

He held out his long, pale hand. The bracelets jingled and the pieces of silver jewelry sparkled in the ray of sunlight that filtered through the beams of the once-grand ceiling. As Harry reached out for the small container, he noticed the blood still staining his fingers.

_Severus Snape's blood._

"I've got blood on my hands."

"So you do, Mr. Potter."

"I killed him," whispered Harry, staring up at the stranger in horror. "It's my fault he's dead. If I hadn't-"

A hand waved in his face. The tinkling jewelry calmed Harry almost instantly. "Did you set the snake on him, Mr. Potter?"

"No."

The hand holding the glass container moved over the table and stopped inches from his bloodied hand.

Harry hesitantly took the small vial, desperately trying to overlook the red on his fingers. He held it in the sunlight. It, too, seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, except the bright bursts of light were not white or yellow. Instead they were a deep red, like rubies sparkling in the natural light. The blood from his fingers transferred to the glass, leaving small pink streaks on the surface.

"What-"

"Do not question it," the stranger replied, waving his now free hand. Once again, the bracelets tinkled softly at the motion. "Do you want Severus Snape to live again or not?"

Harry squared his shoulders and straightened his back as much as it would allow. Maybe if he could act brave he would not feel as scared as he was. "Yes, I do."

"But...?"

That one simple word deflated Harry Potter. "But what about my friends?"

"Ah, of course. How could I forget?" The lips grinned sardonically at the strong concern in the younger male's voice as he pulled out a note, almost acting as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long while now. "This note should explain everything we have talked about." He held it out for Harry to take. "Plus a little extra."

Harry took the note, his gaze lingering on the stranger's face for a moment longer before he turned his attention to the note. At the last paragraph he quirked an eyebrow and glanced up. "Why are you requesting for them to take our bodies to the Hospital Wing?"

The man let out another rattling laugh. Harry wrinkled his nose in revulsion. Noticing Harry's dislike, the man quieted and waved the younger man's question away. "I am more worried about the fact that you have not questioned why I had this note all ready in the first place."

"That was my next question."

"Very well." The man made a showing of taking a large, deep breath before exhaling. "It sure is good to breathe, is it not?" At Harry's glare, he merely chuckled, a sound not too unlike the laughter that had unnerved Harry earlier. "Truthfully, I was merely hoping you would accept this proposition. I had no idea if you would take the offer or not. It was merely a whimsical wish. A... friend of mine believed that you would."

Harry shot him a disbelieving look, but did not push it. "So once I take this potion, I'll die for good?"

"Not even you will be able to come back from Death's clutches."

Harry nodded, suddenly weary. He felt so drained. When was the last time he slept? Well, now he could rest for good. All that running about, trying to destroy a madman... It had taken a lot out of him. Harry more or less looked forward to dying. Again. "Alright. So once I take this... potion... Snape will come back?"

The man frowned. "Not exactly." At the confused look Harry gave him, he grinned and continued to explain. "Once you arrive there, you will have to fight for Severus Snape. You will not have a wand. Magic does not exist in death. You will have to argue with the Fates to bring him back to life."

"The Fates?"

"You'll find out when you get there," he replied languidly.

Harry frowned at the stranger. "You're helpful."

Again with the sickening grin. The look of mirth made Harry nauseous. "I try my hardest. Fate will guide you."

"But I thought you said-"

"The Fates and Fate, Mr. Potter," the man interrupted yet again, his grin turning malicious, "are two completely separate beings."

Harry had to glance away to gather his bearings. Something didn't seem right about this man... "There's something you dislike about Fate." At the quirk of the other's lips, Harry corrected himself. "The Fates."

"Neither, both, either one," was his response. "It matters not. There is nothing neither you nor I can do about it." He fell silent, and Harry felt as if the stranger was studying him again. In a softer tone, the mysterious man continued. "Mr. Potter... Harry... The Fates will not hand over Severus easily. If you think that saying your death is worth more than another's because you were the Savior of the world, then you are greatly mistaken. To Death it does not matter. He cares not how much your life is worth nor how much you mattered to others. A soul is a soul."

Not a sound single penetrated the still air. The wind had stilled and Harry hardly dared to breathe. The atmosphere was not unlike twenty minutes ago before the man before him had interrupted his thoughts. It seemed as if the world had come to a standstill for this moment and this moment alone. Harry could not even hear the blood pulsing through his veins. It was so peculiar, so dissimilar from how the school should have been.

But Harry could not dwell on _what ifs_ and _should-have-beens_. Nothing good every came on lingering in the past. So, pushing the negative thoughts from his mind, he nodded.

"Alright."

"'Alright'?"

_Déjà vu._

"Yes. 'Alright'."

The man pulled back slightly, head cocked slightly to one side. "Fascinating..."

"What is, sir?"

"You are, Mr. Potter." The odd man smiled, but this one did not unease Harry as the last ones had. This one gave off an air of sadness. "Even after everything has been said and done, you are still willing to die and risk Severus' freedom to try to free him. You are truly a Gryffindor."

Harry shook his head sadly and glanced back at the body of Severus Snape. "Some might argue that my bravery is actually stupidity."

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it is not," was the light reply.

"And this time?"

The smile twisted back into an unpleasing grin. "I am still deciding that, Mr. Potter. At the moment, however..." He leaned over the table and bared white, pointed teeth. Harry could have sworn that he saw a glinting red eye. "I believe it is stupidity."

Harry frowned at the stranger. "But you are the one pushing me into doing this."

"I have said not one word telling you that you had to do this," was his scathing reply as he sat back. He plucked the small vial from Harry's hand and made to put it back in his robes. "If you have changed your mind-"

Harry reached across and took the vial back. "I'll do it, make no mistake."

Just as Harry uncorked the deadly concoction with a small pop and placed the vial to his lips, the man softly asked, "Do you think he will forgive you so easily?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, slowly lowering the vial.

He waved a hand, the tinkling the only sound for a moment. "Oh, nothing. It is just that Severus Snape is a very bitter man. He is suspicious of the world around him. Would he readily accept an apology, especially coming from the bane of his existence for the past seventeen years? His only friend died because of you. Did you know that?"

The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He made his decision and lifted the vial. "Can I at least know your name?"

He shook his head slowly. The dark fringe moved aside to show closed eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I am not allowed to give you my name. I can tell you, on the other hand, that I work for the Fates and that I have made... a contract, of sorts, with Death. That is all you need to know. Perhaps we shall meet again. Oh, and Harry?"

Harry held the vial at his parted lips. "Yes?"

"Good luck."

Harry lifted the potion, as if making a toast. "Bottoms up," said Harry to the man on the other side of the table as he downed the deadly potion.

The man simply grinned as Harry slumped forward, lifeless once again for the second time that week. That was really too easy. Children really would follow along with just about anything you said if you convinced them enough- which, honestly, was not all that hard. Just a few of the right words and they were putty in another's hands.

With that unnerving dark and sinister chuckle, the stranger stood from the table. His hair parted to reveal a gleaming red eye as he lifted his head to look down his nose at the teenager lying dead on the table. He took the note from Harry's limp hand only to replace it with a new one. His bare feet slapped softly on the stone floor and the tinkling of the jewelry adorning his ankles came with the soft sound as he headed toward the tall, broken doors. At the threshold, he paused, stilled by the pang of guilt he felt at tricking the boy. Harry Potter had been manipulated his entire life. The end of the war should have ended the seventeen-year-long streak of manipulation.

He forced himself not to look back as he strolled past the once-proud doors. Near the wall he shimmered slightly before fading out of view.

It seemed that Fate had different plans for the Boy-Who-Lived.


	2. A tête à tête or two

Two. A tête-à-tête or two.

When Harry awoke, he became conscious of the fact that he was naked, missing his glasses, and face-down on a flat surface that was just there once again. His surroundings came into focus much faster than they had yesterday- was it really only yesterday that he had died for the first, or perhaps the second, time? A black pile of robes appeared just out of his reach. He pulled those on quickly and looked around. Again, the room looked very similar to King's Cross Station. To his left stood the barrier to the Hogwarts Express. Dumbledore was nowhere in sight. Neither was the sickly creature.

Harry placed a hand to the barrier and smiled when his hand slipped through. The rest of his body quickly followed his hand.

Once on the other side of the barrier, Harry paused to take in his surroundings. There was more color on this side. The Hogwarts Express waited, colors vibrant, steam pouring from underneath its belly. The sight comforted Harry. His heart fluttered in his chest at the magnificent locomotive.

Slowly, fearing the train would disappear if he moved too suddenly, Harry stepped toward the train. A movement to his right caught his attention and he turned, expecting the same gruesome creature as before.

Instead he found a woman, head bowed, sitting against the wall. She looked strongly of African descent with her dark brown hair and skin and traditional bright African garb- or, at least that was what Harry assumed. Her bare feet, just as bare as his, were planted firmly on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her long, thin arms tugged her legs closer and her forehead fell to her knees. Her short hair splayed out in all directions, like his, but with slightly more finesse. Sadness wafted from her body in thick waves. Harry's throat clenched painfully, but his breathing was not constricted.

Harry then belatedly realized that he had no need to breathe anymore.

Cursing his curiosity and hero complex, Harry tentatively moved toward the distraught woman. He really needed to find Snape and Death, and Fate to guide him, but his curiosity of the woman won the internal battle. When she did not look up he sat down to her left. He stared right at the train. What could he say to her?

"Hullo."

Harry wanted to kick himself.

"Hullo yourself."

Silence hung thick in the air.

"How'd you die?" he asked before he could stop his mouth. He really needed to work on his brain/mouth connection. "Not because of me, I hope..."

Harry turned to her and watched her lift her head. The woman's eyes were darker than her hair; they were an enthralling color, Harry decided. He could only stare as she gave him a sad smile.

"No, child," she replied, her voice sad and her smile turned bitter. Her accent was strange, one he had never heard before. "I died a long time ago, Harry James Potter. Long before you were ever born. I died merely from a disease they could not cure." She slid her gaze over to the vibrant train. "Brilliant, is it not?"

Steam poured from the train again, covering the platform in a white mist. Harry stared back at the train. "I suppose. But how do you know my name?"

The dark-skinned woman kept silent, staring straight ahead solemnly. She really had no need to answer his question. The answer would have been the same as that mysterious man's, and she knew that she did not need to reply. Who _didn't_ know Harry Potter? It really was a stupid question. He berated himself and moved his gaze to his lap. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted the answer anymore.

"So... If you died a long time ago, why are you still here?"

Harry cursed his curiosity once again, and it surely would not be for the last time he did so, either.

The woman just chuckled at him, the noise low and comforting. "Ah, Harry James Potter. You silly, _stupid _boy. But you are just a boy, are you not? Pity, that. You would have made a fine young man. Tell me, who coaxed you into dying again?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"And why should I answer to a silly, stupid boy like you? Do not reply, 'because I am the Savior and I deserve to know'." She shot him a scathing look.

Harry shot an equally harsh look right back. "I don't understand why everyone thinks I _like_ the fame. I didn't _choose_ to be the Savior! I didn't _choose_ to be the bloody Boy-Who-Bloody-Well-Lived! Just for _one_ _minute_, I wish someone would not use that against me."

The woman tilted her head. Her dark eyes carefully studied him sadly. "No, of course not, Harry James Potter. Now, answer my question, and I _may_ answer yours."

"Just some man who was in the Great Hall," Harry replied bluntly. He was hurt from her words. He was just Harry Potter; a man, damn it! He had killed! Blood was on his hands! He was a man... Wasn't he? Not some child to berate and belittle. "He said that I could bring Professor Snape back to life."

"Did he, now?" A dark chuckle danced through her lips. "Was he Death's Messenger?"

"He told me that he had made a contract with Death and worked for the Fates, if that helps at all."

The woman stilled, her dark eyes impossibly wide. "No," she whispered, her sad voice soft. "I cannot believe him." She ran a hand through her thick dark hair. "He actually did it."

"Did what?"

Harry watched the woman, confused. Did she know the man? How? Nothing made any sense anymore. Not that it did in the first place, or ever, Harry mused.

"Never you mind," she replied, turning her cheerless gaze back to the train. "You will find out all in due time, and not a moment sooner, child. Now, to answer your question..." The woman glanced briefly in his direction, but did not meet his stare. "I have been waiting. For whom, I do not remember. I have forgotten a lot of things, it seems."

"Even your name?"

"Even my name."

"That's terrible." Harry wanted to reach out to comfort her, but she seemed so beyond help, and he didn't know what to do...

"Not particularly, no." She sighed, the breath of released air empty yet filled with conflicting emotions. "I suppose that happens if you have been waiting as long as I have."

Harry did not hesitate this time to touch her elbow. "How long?"

"There is no time in death," was her blithe answer. "Harry James... Do you know that you cannot save a person once they Move On?"

Her question startled him. That stranger in the Great Hall told him that he could bring Severus Snape back, and now this woman was saying he couldn't. Really, he should have expected this; he really shouldn't be this surprised. Everything around him always turned complicated. Harry silently wondered if there was some higher form of being that purposefully made his life so difficult, just for their sick, twisted pleasure. It really would explain everything.

If only he knew.

"But that man said-"

"I know what he said," she snapped at him, tightly hugging her knees. Her dark eyes narrowed at the train before them. "I know what he said," she reiterated in a whisper. In an angry, low voice, she asked, "Do you just follow what everyone else says without question?"

Harry scowled down at her. "I asked him questions," he replied in defense. He paused, studying her angry expression. "You know him, don't you?"

"I do," she replied. After a thoughtful look, "I did."

"You are... angry with him?"

"Sometimes I wish I did not know him or even had never met him." Her dark eyes lowered to her bare toes. "Although he keeps me company while I wait."

"For the person who may have already gone?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders. "Perhaps. Keep in mind I do not remember for whom I am waiting. You do not wish to know why you cannot save your beloved professor?"

The sudden question made Harry stop to think of a proper response. He was silent for a long, pregnant moment. The words poured from his mouth on their own accord, and he was startled to realize they were true. "Sometimes, I really hate when people withhold information from me," he responded quietly, staring at his hands. The red was gone from his fingertips. He glanced at the back of his hand to see that the white, ugly scar _I must not tell lies_ had disappeared. Again, he inspected the palms of his hands. The creases reminded him of how Professor Trelawney always predicted his death.

_Did you foresee this as my end?_ Harry thought bitterly. _You were right, for once; I died young._

The woman respectfully kept silent as he gathered his thoughts. With a shaky breath, Harry continued. "But sometimes, I don't really want to know. Not knowing would give me ignorance. As they say; ignorance is bliss." Harry gave a bitter laugh at his explanation. "People expected me to defeat Voldemort, but no one ever gave me any information. _'It's for your own safety, Harry'_," he mocked, his eyes hard. "_'It's to protect you, Harry'._ How did they expect me to kill him if no one told me anything?"

The woman gave him a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. "Harry James, maybe they were just trying to show they cared."

"Yeah, because not telling me didn't kill anybody," Harry snapped sarcastically. "But that's not what makes me so angry. They expected me to grow up and be the adult while I was still a child, but they treated me like a child. I'm just... I don't understand, I guess." His words lost steam by the end of his heated speech.

She did not know what to say. When she did not speak, Harry continued. "I hate Fate, sometimes."

"I am sorry, Harry James Potter. I truly am." Her hand dropped from his shoulder as she closed her dark eyes. "Fate did only as she was asked. She hates to see children mistreated so, just as Death hates escorting babies and children to the afterlife." Here she paused, her head bowed as a tear slid down her dark cheek. "But that is why they were created and picked; they understand it so perfectly, the Fates. Almost too perfectly."

Harry wanted to ask what she meant, but a noise distracted him. A shrill whistle came from his left. Harry turned, surprised to see a neatly dressed man stepping off the train. He was dressed in a smart, white suit, his black hair slicked back to reveal dark eyes Harry could not tell the color of from this far away. His feet were bare and his toes wiggled in anticipation. He held a pocket watch in his hand as he checked the time. Harry thought the man looked rather strange and very unlike any conductor he had ever seen.

"The Escort has come to take you away, Harry James Potter," the woman intoned, glancing up with a glare at the other man. "Do you wish to leave for the afterworld, or will you instead save your precious Professor Severus Tobias Snape?"

Harry moved to stand, but stopped at a crouch. "If I choose not to save him?"

The woman gave him a steady, hard stare. "Then you committed suicide, and will be judged accordingly."

"You sure know a lot for not moving from here in so long."

She only hummed in reply.

"All aboard!" The deep, unsettling voice of the stranger- sounding distantly familiar to Harry- resonated through the otherwise empty station. "Mister Harry Potter?"

"That is you," said the woman unnecessarily.

"Sure is," was the distracted reply. There was not much else he could say, not that he knew what he wanted to say in the first place. Harry had so many questions for the strange woman beside him, but he had no idea where to start, much less how to word what he wanted to ask. He stayed crouched for several seconds, just staring at the white-clothed man. Should he get on the train, or should he find this spirit of his deceased professor?

Holding his head high, Harry stood proudly. He did not glance down at the dark-skinned woman as he said, "I came here to save him. Professor Snape deserves a chance at life."

"He has lived nearly forty years- twenty years more than you."

The sadness in her voice surprised Harry. He looked down to see her staring up at him with tear-filled eyes. A single tear escaped her dark eye and it slowly rolled down her smooth cheek. The entire picture fascinated Harry; how often would he see a spirit cry for another they knew nothing about? But he could do nothing for her. He needed to go find Snape before it was too late.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stepping away from her. He hated to sound so insensitive, but he really needed to get going. He had spent too much time there already. "But I really need to go find him. You wouldn't happen to know where I should look first, do you? The man said Fate would guide me. Perhaps-"

"Do you trust me?"

"I- What?"

She repeated her question, staring at her toes all the while.

Harry sighed, clenching the fist his wand was usually in. He felt oddly naked without the stick. "Yes. I'll trust you."

"Then close your eyes," was the solemn command. Harry hesitated, looking sideways at her. She, however, did not look up at him. "Just do it; close your eyes." He did so, glancing only once about him. It was strange, just listening to her strongly accented voice without looking at her. "Imagine Severus Tobias Snape as he was when you knew him. Imagine him as the man you knew _before_ he gave you his memories. Now... Erase that image and concentrate on what you know _now_. Focus on the similarities between you two and grasp it. Go on... Reach out and grab it."

Feeling rather silly, Harry reached out with a splayed hand. Somewhere to his right he felt a... string? His brow furrowed in confusion.

A soft, light hand touched his, making him wrap his fingers around the thread. "Keep your eyes closed and follow that connection."

Harry nodded, fumbling to get a better feeling for his surroundings. "What happens if I open my eyes?" He winced when she let loose a shrill laugh. "Stupid question, wasn't it?" The only response he received was a light chuckle. "Why can't you do this with the person you are looking for?"

There was a short pause. "I have... tried," she said hesitantly, pulling her hand away from his. "Remember: do not open your eyes."

"Alright. Well, thanks for your help."

"Good luck, Harry James Potter."

Harry paused and, keeping his eyes clenched shut, turned in her direction. "I really hope you find whoever it is your are waiting for."

"Me too, Harry James." She touched a dark hand to his head. "Me too."

The conductor came over to stand beside the woman as Harry left the platform. The deep red beam of magic disappeared seconds after the teen's hand moved forward as he walked blindly toward his goal. The two strangers were silent, watching the boy leave on his mission. Slowly, the scarlet and black train faded from view, the tracks and support columns quickly following. The steam disappeared in thin tendrils, spiraling up and out of view through the rapidly diminishing ceiling. The walls and floor were the last to disappear, and the two stood on the strange not-there-but-it-_just-is_ surface.

The prim man continued to stare after Harry as he spoke to the woman, slipping into his casual familiarity with her easily. "That was some impressive magic, Miss Feta-chini."

"I hate it when you call me that," was her terse reply. She cut him off as he opened his mouth to retort back. "And I hate _that_ name even more. Do not say it."

"But it _is_ your name."

"Do not say it anyway." She watched him lean against the no-longer-there wall, hands deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched, from the corner of her dark eye. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what."

The man shrugged, closing his eyes and resting his head on the _just there_ surface. "I was angry, I suppose. At both you and him," he clarified, feeling her confusion. "I was angry at you because you would not believe me. And Mr. Potter... He was here just before, but Mr. Dumbledore had to interfere before I could get to him. Mr. Potter is a fascinating creature. Although... Speaking of Albus... The Council wants him."

The woman, 'Miss Feta-chini', grimaced. "I hope you said no."

He scoffed, eyes still closed. "What do you take me for? I'm no imbecile; of _course_ I protested. He has done enough meddling with others' lives whilst alive. I believe the Council is swayed enough to believe he has done enough interfering to last a few lifetimes." He fell silent, listening to his companion mutter to herself. If he was honest with himself, she never failed to provide amusement to him, though if he valued his position he would say nothing on the matter. "What are we going to do about Mr. Potter?"

She shrugged, wrapping her arms about herself. "Let us see if he learns anything from his newest adventure." She paused, still staring after the spot where Harry had disappeared. "Thade? Are we doing the right thing?"

"Of course we are, Feta." 'Thade' finally opened his eyes to reveal gleaming, deep red irises. He ran a pale, long hand through his dark hair, shaking it free to fall messily around his gaunt-like face. His white clothing shimmered and morphed into the white robes he preferred. Silver jewelry adorned his pale neck and thin wrists, and the tinkling at their feet signaled that the silver bands had appeared around his ankles as well. He was silent for a moment longer, looking off at the same point as his companion's. In the silence, he turned to her and swiped a thumb across her dark cheek, taking the salty water with it. "I promise I am just as upset as you are from this war. It was not your fault, you know."

"I could have-"

"You had your orders, and I had mine," Thade interrupted her, shoving his hand angrily back into his pocket. He slouched back against the not-there wall, looking at her through softly narrowed eyes. "We are already going against the Council for doing this."

"What they do not know cannot hurt them," she replied hesitantly, eyeing her pale co-conspirator.

He nodded, saying, "They will find out, anyway."

She sighed. "They always do." She paused slightly before asking, "What did you say to make Harry James Potter die to save a man he hardly knows?"

Again, he shrugged. "Mostly likely along the same lines you, yourself, said to Mr. Potter. He is not a hard boy to convince once his mind is half made up. Let us hope _she_ will not meet him before it is time."

Feta slumped against the not-wall beside him, making a sound of one who has been utterly defeated. She wondered how she had created such a mess. "I forgot about _her_. You may have to distract her. She will ruin everything if we are not careful."

"Why _me?_"

"_You_ were the one who told him-"

"But-" He fell silent when her glare turned to him. He sighed, pushing off the just-there surface with a shake of his head. "Alright. _Fine_, I will go distract her. You just do your," he paused to wave his hands wildly in front of him, "mumbo-jumbo _stuff_."

"How eloquent," she teased, straightening from the not-quite wall as well. "What the rest of the team would not give to see you so flustered like this. One might think you have-"

"Finish that if you want to die."

"Already dead, darling."

Oh, how he wanted to strangle the girl! Thade glared at her bright smile. On the inside, he congratulated himself on wiping the distressed look from her face. If there was one thing he wanted to do before he Moved On it was to make sure Feta could have something to keep her happy before she Moved On as well. He turned on his heal, pushing the thoughts away as a malicious grin grew over his gaunt-like face.

_Three, two, one..._

"And it is not '_mumbo-jumbo **stuff'**_!" Feta cried out before he could disappear from view.

Although there was nothing to smell and he could not breathe, Thade drew in a deep breathe through his nose. _Ah__, the sweet smell of victory_, he thought just as he disappeared.

* * *

**A/N: It's too short. ): And looooong overdue. But Harry's real adventure starts in the next chapter with another new stranger.**


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